Priceless
by fleeterberry
Summary: Carter has made some tough decisions lately. Were they worth the cost? one-shot


Priceless  
Fleeterberry  
Spoilers: Through 2PiR, spoilers for Prisoner's Dilemma preview

She sat at the table, her fingers idly stirring her coffee. She had no intention of drinking it, not after she'd nervously dumped half a jar of sugar into it one spoonful at a time while she waited.

It had been a week.

And still, her hands shook. As badly as they had sitting across the interrogation table from him. As badly as they had the first time she'd gone to meet him.

She wasn't used to the nauseous, anxious feeling in her gut. Something about him had always made her feel butterflies, but in a good way. And now? After she'd crossed every single line she hadn't already crossed to help him? After she'd deliberately derailed a federal investigation to protect him? After she'd had to face him down and ask him questions that required him to lie straight to her face?

There had to be a word stronger than anxious. There had to be. A superlative form that would sum up being so nervous she could die in one neat word with five or six syllables. Finch would probably know it, but she could hardly ask him.

It had been seven days since John had been released. Seven days without a word from either of them, not even a thank you, not even a "we asked you to compromise everything you stand for and you did so are you all right." Seven days for her to understand how mean it had been for her to do the same thing to them when she got angry over Shemansky's injury. Seven days for her to realize she was being dismissed.

When her phone had beeped with the text from John a few hours earlier, she'd dreaded even looking at it. She supposed that this meeting would be the official fuck off, as though the intervening week of painful silence hadn't been enough.

The phone he'd given her sat on the table next to her mug. She figured he'd want it back, if only for assurance she wouldn't use it to call him.

The waitress approached with the coffee pot, offering a refill before she noticed the first cup hadn't been touched in the twenty minutes since she'd served it. Jos looked up, meaning to ask for a fresh cup, but words failed her. The waitress, Denise according to her nametag, smiled and promised to be right back.

When she returned, it was with a slice of apple pie and a new mug. "On the house, hon." Denise leaned down. "He ain't worth it. You'll find somebody new."

Great. She looked as much a wreck as she felt. But as least now she could push the pie around on the plate rather than turning her fresh coffee into taffy. She was mortified. She'd perfected her poker face years earlier, but facing John across that table, interrogating her friend, doing everything she could to destroy Donnelly's investigation, it had taken a toll on her. It had broken her.

As certainly as the whole thing had apparently broken John's fragile trust in her.

Sliding the pie around, she pondered Denise's words. Was he worth it? Was their mission worth all the things she'd done to protect him? She honestly wasn't sure anymore. She believed in the saving people who'd done no wrong and punishing those who had, but the line was far less distinct when it came to someone like Donnelly. He was a good cop, a good man. She hated that she had to screw him over.

Then John slid into the booth across from her, his long fingers wrapped around a coffee mug, his smirk back in place, his eyes dancing with mischief and she promptly remembered why she'd been willing to do so many things she'd never thought she'd do for anyone.

She swallowed hard and looked at the pie she'd tortured.

"Pie for lunch, Carter? That's not like you."

She shrugged. "The waitress gave it to me. She felt bad for me because she thought I was being stood up." Pushing the plate away, she folded her arms on the table and met his eyes. "So did I."

"Sorry, had a bit of a problem getting here on time." He stretched out one hand, revealing a hastily bandaged wound that was bleeding through the gauze.

She bit back her motherly urge to ask if he'd used soap and hot water to clean it out. "Doesn't explain where you've been for the last week." She regretted the words as soon as they'd left her mouth. She hadn't intended to let him know she was angry. Then again, with her feelings as obvious as they'd been to the waitress, she doubted there was really any point in trying to lie to him.

There was an infinitesimal crack in his expression and she wanted to pat herself on the back. Any time she surprised the man who seemed to expect every possible outcome was an achievement.

"Donnelly didn't take his most recent failure well. He's become rather paranoid." He spoke slowly, carefully measuring her face with each word. "In fact, he's even had his most trusted ally under surveillance for a week."

So Donnelly suspected something. She wasn't surprised; she knew he was too smart to miss her duplicity forever. She was disappointed though. A man like Donnelly would be a good man to have on her side. But then, so was John. It wasn't either man she was questioning; it was her own choice. She needed something back from John to convince her she'd chosen correctly.

"He's a good man, John. I hate what I had to do to him."

Although she'd never considered John to be unguarded, he had been. She saw the moment when his guard came up, the hint of wariness in his eyes. "Being in FBI custody would be a death sentence for me, Carter. You know that. Your actions wouldn't go unpunished either."

She shook her head. "No, John, you've got him all wrong. He doesn't want you for your crimes. He wants you to help him with his case against the CIA for operating on US soil. He wants to shut down bastards like Snow. He'd offer you a deal, try to turn you."

He scoffed and shook his head. "Turning state's evidence against the CIA is a death sentence."

She knew he was right about that, but he was missing the point. "Donnelly doesn't know that. He doesn't know they want you dead. He thinks they want you back. He's honest, John, he's trying to do his job. He's smart too. He's like me; he'd understand."

It was far more than a crack this time. His eyes widened, hurt and betrayal obvious as he turned to scan the diner, then each and every vehicle parked along the street. He looked at her, his eyes moving over her shirt and jacket, looking for the wire. "Where are they?" He moved to the edge of the booth, his head jerking back and forth frantically as he tried to guess where they'd attack from. "How much time do I have?"

She reached out to touch his hand, shocked and hurt when he yanked it back. "No one's here. No one's listening. It's just me."

He was scared. He'd just been in custody and had barely escaped that hell. Facing her in the interrogation had to have been as painful for him as it had been for her. And now he thought she'd thrown him under the bus. Her heart felt like it was breaking in her chest.

"John, no," she shook her head, tears springing to her eyes as she imagined the way he felt in those moments. "I didn't - I wouldn't -"

His eyes shifted to her phone, the one she'd left sitting beside her, the one she'd thought he'd want back, the one that looked so out of place it was bound to cause suspicion. He didn't even ask. He just looked at it and then at her.

She pushed it toward him. "I thought you were cutting me loose, John. I thought you'd want it back. I didn't know about the surveillance."

His eyes lingered on hers for a long time as he searched for any hint of deception. Finally he eased himself back against the booth and let out the breath he'd been holding. "We couldn't contact you. Any communication with you would have put us all in danger. Anything out of the ordinary for you would have made them look harder. I called as soon as they packed up. They cleared you."

She felt like an idiot. She'd been so preoccupied with John's silence that she hadn't even realized there was an FBI team on her. "I can't believe I didn't notice them."

His eyes were locked on hers again, and this time she saw the wall coming down. "I didn't think that was possible. Until now I thought you'd done the best acting job in the history of the world." He shook his head. "You really didn't know?"

She laughed without much humor. "Guess I had something else on my mind."

"I'll make sure Finch sets something up in case there's a next time. You need a way to reach out to us that won't arouse any suspicion." He pushed the phone back toward her. "You keep this. It's yours."

"I'm not sure I'll survive a next time, John."

"You and me both." He motioned at the bruises on his face from his run-ins in Riker's which, though faded, still revealed he hadn't had the easiest time. "Donnelly's gone home to lick his wounds, but he'll be back."

She nodded. "He's never going to let this go, John. I don't want-"

He reached, his hand resting on her forearm for a moment before he withdrew. "You won't have to go through anything like this again, Carter. I'll take care of it."

"You're not," she caught herself and lowered her voice, "going to hurt him, are you?"

"No, I'm not." He leaned in, his own voice lowered in case anyone might be listening, his hand reaching out again and folding over hers. "I'm not going to let him hurt you either."

The pure emotion in his voice choked her and she found herself blinking back tears. She'd needed to hear that. She'd wanted him to remind her why she'd chosen him. And he had. Finally she nodded. She tried to lift her hand to wipe away the tears, but his hold remained tight even as his thumb gently slid over her fingers.

"Thank you," she forced out in a whisper.

"No, thank you." He smiled as though holding her hand was a perfectly normal thing for him to do. "Finch told me everything you did for me. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

It meant the world to her, but she tried to brush it off. "You'd do the same for me, right?" She'd meant it facetiously, but as soon as she spoke, she realized that was really what she wanted to know.

"You're one of us, Carter. You're not out here alone anymore." Somehow, the man of so few words knew exactly what she needed to hear.

Denise stopped by to refill their cups, pointedly checking John out and noticing their still joined hands. "Hope he's worth it."

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face at John's awkward embarrassment. Squeezing John's hand, she smiled up at Denise. "He is."

~end~


End file.
